Resonate Beneath the Shells

When the thread frayed in foreign lands— 

In China, where silence grew loud, 

In Italy, where hope dissolved— 

Our hands forgot each other’s warmth, 

And we stood still, no longer seeking.

Yet in stillness, we remembered

Our melanin held stories, 

A rope woven from sunlit truths,

A heritage that asked for nothing 

But light and memory.

Then came the whisper: “It lies.” 

And we questioned the voices we trusted,

Wondered if the pigment bore deceit,

 If the hue we wore was a mask.

But what if the lie is not in the melanin,

But in the eyes that refuse to see it whole?

What if the truth is buried deep,

Waiting for us to dig with grace?